


What's That Again?

by Applefall



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bandom Big Bang 2015, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, breakdowns, language barriers, rimming (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 08:25:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3803572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Applefall/pseuds/Applefall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete Wentz is a rich man who decides to take a break from his normal, stressing life to vacation in Paris, France. The trip is supposed to help him unwind, but he meets a cute French boy named Patrick Stump and kinda falls in love with him.</p><p>The only problem? Patrick doesn't speak English, and Pete doesn't know a word of French.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's That Again?

**Author's Note:**

> there will be a translations for all the french in this, so i would recommend keeping that open while you read, unless you know French! I do not speak french so all of the french in this story comes from google translate. I hope it's mostly accurate!
> 
> This is the longest fic I have ever written and I'm super proud of myself for it. I really hope there are no errors in this fic, feel free to tell me if there are! I totally edited this at like three in the morning so I'll have to go back over it once more. This also my fic contribution to the bandom big bang, so I hope you all enjoy it! i'm unsure if I'll have a sequel to this fic, maybe one day I will!
> 
> Since this was such a long story for me to write, a comment on what you thought about it would be amazing! Thank you for reading, i hope you enjoy.

"Yes. Yes, sir, I understand that you need an attorney right at this moment, but I'm full to the brim with cases." The tanned man sighs into the phone. "No, I completely understand. I'll try to fit you in, okay? Please, sir, your son will be fine." The person on the other line continues to argue with him before he has an abrupt change of mind, agreeing hardheartedly to Peter Wentz's terms. "Okay, thank you. See you soon." Pete says into the phone, dropping it down once the man on the other line hangs up. The people who ask for Pete are normally like the man, impatient and demanding. After five years, Pete's used to it, practically immune.

Pete rubs his face with his hand and groans, glaring at the mountain of paperwork on his desk. Like hell he would try to fit the man in. He already had so much work to do, adding another case would just further his stress. He pushes a button on his desk and says into a speaker, "Joe, come in here please, thank you." A minute passes, and then the door is opening. A curly-haired man peers in, a mixture of relief and nervousness on his face. "Come in," Pete tells him, gesturing to the seat across from him. Joe enters, taking the aforementioned seat, swallowing and running a hand through his curls. The young man is still new at the Firm, hired to be Pete's assistant. Pete's yet to see him not looking nervous.

"Make sure you tell everyone asking for me that I will not be taking any more cases at this time, and I won't be for a while. I'm arranging a vacation." Pete tells Joe, getting straight to business. Joe nods and blinks bright blue eyes. Pete is so tired, he hardly gets a wink of sleep at night. How can he, with his work? Being a lawyer has to be the most stressful job out there, Pete thinks, cursing his father. Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz II had, from a young age, drilled the idea of being a lawyer into young Pete's mind. It had seemed like a great job at the time, but by the time Law school rolled around, Pete was cursing the day his father was born.

Joe reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a notepad, presumably jotting down what Pete had said. "Okay, sir. How long will the vacation be?" He asks, looking up at him, questioning in his eyes. Pete actually hasn't thought of that yet, hell, he just thought of taking a vacation. "And also, what should I tell people who ask for you?" Joe looks up at him expectantly, pen poised above the paper.

Pete pulls up a mental calender in his mind, scheduling a date. The paperwork and cases he currently had would take a while, but he could always leave some of it to his partner, Andy. Andy wouldn't mind, he knew how hard Pete worked to keep the Law Firm going. He split his work in half mentally and the other half would take two weeks, more or less. Pete decides he would leave in three weeks. Now he just had to figure out where to vacation. "It'll be a month." Pete informs Joe, who nods again and writes it down. "And just tell them I'm not available, I'm not in the country, something along those lines. Mr. Hurley will be taking half of my work tomorrow, please inform him."

The curly-haired man stands once he finishes writing, nodding. "Alright, Mr. Wentz. Enjoy your vacation." Joe gives him a smile, straightening his tie and heading out of the room without another word. Pete sighs again, spinning his chair around so he can look at the calender tacked up on the wall. He grabs a pen and circles the date he'll leave, already wishing for it to come. While Peter Wentz the II seemed to enjoy working, Peter Wentz the III did not.

But he had built this Law Firm from the ground up, had worked tirelessly for five years. Pete can't remember the last time he had a vacation, or even a day off. He assures himself he's earned it, but he still can't help but feel worry in his gut. A month seems like a long time, but it really isn't. Andy would take care of the place, he had started the business with Pete after all. But sometimes Pete felt like he had only started the whole thing to impress his father, show him he really could do it. But years of being pressured to be perfect were wearing on him, and he was tired of having to be perfect.

Pete decides that wherever he's going, he's going to go and have a ton of fun. There will be no phone calls, no paperwork, no twelve-hour days. It seemed almost like a fantasy, but in three weeks it would be true. He could finally go out and drink, could finally get laid. Pete can't remember the last time he had gotten off with someone that wasn't his right hand. He can't even remember the last time he had a full-nights sleep. But even when he wasn't a busy lawyer he couldn't sleep, not even with all the pills he took. Pete still took pills for his bipolar disorder and depression, but he kept it under wraps. No one wanted a lawyer who downed four pills a day to just live normally.

The twenty-nine year old man shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. Three weeks until his vacation. He could do it. Three weeks would pass by fast, especially with all the work he had to do. He scoots up to his desk, grabbing a stack of the papers and a pen, settling down for another while. If he's learned anything over the years, it would be to not get behind on his work. That definitely lead to stress and all-nighters, something Pete really couldn't do anymore.

He looks up at the clock and sighs once he realizes it's only been five minutes since he first called Joe in.

* * *

Two and a half weeks later, Pete is poring over a french to english dictionary and struggling to say hello. Either he really, really sucks at learning a new language or the French language is incredibly difficult to learn. Pete kind of suspects it was both. For the tenth time in fifteen minutes, he wonders why exactly he chose Paris, France as the destination for his vacation. Sure, it was beautiful, but the language was incredibly difficult. It doesn't make any sense to him, like, at all. He wonders if you have to be a native speaker to even completely get the grammar of the language. 

Pete eventually drops the dictionary on the floor and jumps off the couch, heading to his office. He sits in his rolling chair and looks up translators that would come with him everywhere. It seems like a better option than struggling to speak for a month, even if the translators for hire are expensive. He doesn't care, he's got more money than he knows what to do with at this point, he may as well spend it on something useful. Pete will try to learn the language while he's there, to the best of his ability. But a translator will definitely help him out, especially since most people in France will speak French.

Pete browses the Hire-A-Translator site for a while, before finding a profile of a tall, black man. Pete gathers that his name is Travis, or Travie, McCoy, and that his English is perfect. He's relieved and decides to hire him, shooting an email off to him. He asks him to meet him the day after he arrives in Paris, because Pete knows that jet lag will come to bite him in the ass. Especially since it's a good ten hours, and he's changing time-zones a few times. So far he's got almost everything about the vacation settled, except for the hotel.

Pete switches to looking at hotels after he sends the email to Travie, something he's put off. He hates choosing hotels when he travels, because if he chooses wrong and gets stuck with hotel staff that are terrible, he can't really change easily. He spends a good hour looking at reviews and hopes that the five-star inn that looks more like a cottage is good. From the pictures, Pete can tell it's beautiful, and the rooms are small, but cozy. The inn serves food in the small restaurant area, and has lounging areas. The reviews describe the place as ' _homey_ ' and ' _comfortable_ ', something Pete likes in a hotel. He makes reservations, arranging to check in soon after he arrives.

After spending an hour or two on his computer Pete heads out of the office, yawning. It's not very late yet, but the past two weeks have worn Pete down. He's been working to finish his arduous work in time, and even with Andy taking half he's still had a load to complete. He leaves in two days and he's not packed yet, so he supposes he should do so. Pete's always bad about packing, and he usually forgets something important and has to buy it later on. This time, he's made a checklist so it doesn't happen again. He's packed his clothes, but that's about it. He still has to gather his electronics together, and his toothbrush and toothpaste. Then, he's set for vacation.

He passes Brendon, his cook, on the way to the kitchen to grab a water bottle. Brendon smiles at him and follows him into the kitchen, arms full of pasta sauce and spaghetti. "Hey, Pete." The young man says, dropping the supplies on the counter. "How do you feel about spaghetti?" Brendon sifts through the supplies, holding up Pete's favorite pasta sauce. "It's your favorite!" He sings, making Pete chuckle.

Pete grabs a water and takes a gulp, turning to face Brendon. He's only twenty-two, but he's by far the most talented cook Pete's had. Even the most simplest dishes, such as spaghetti, turn out tasting delicious and satisfying. Needless to say, Brendon has a high salary. But Brendon isn't just his cook, Brendon is one of his closest friends. The young man knows how to make Pete laugh with his antics and his stories of learning under famous chefs always keep Pete amused. They're close friends, despite Brendon having only been there for less than a year.

 "Sounds good, Brendon. Just not too much pasta on the spaghetti, please." Brendon nods and turns on the stove, reaching under the cabinet to grab a pot. He fills it with water and then places it on the stove to boil. Once he's done that he turns and raises an eyebrow at Pete. Pete raises his own eyebrow back, earning him another smile. Brendon's cheery and bright all the time, so making him smile isn't difficult. Pete loves making him smile, loves being the reason other people are happy.

"So, you'll be gone a whole month, huh?" Brendon says, giving him a slightly sadder smile. "It'll be lonely around here without you." He confesses, fiddling with his apron. "I'll just have Meagan and Vicky for company." Meagan and Vicky are the housemaids, both wonderful women and Pete pays them more than they should be making. They deserve it, especially with the amount of times they've forced him to go to bed and saved him from dropping dead at his desk the next day. Brendon steps forward then and bites his lip, brushing his hair away. His dark brown eyes are wide and there's something in them that Pete can see, but can't put his finger on. 

Pete understands exactly what it is when Brendon leans forward and presses his lips to his, kissing him softly and chastely. The tanned man is stunned and he freezes, before pulling away from Brendon gently. He definitely didn't expect that. Brendon's eyes snap open and now there's disappointment in them, flashing clearly. The younger man swallows, a pink blush rising on his cheeks. "I'm sorry, Brendon." Pete tells him gently, genuinely feeling sorry. He should have seen it coming, especially with the light touches on his shoulder every day and the subtle flirting. The younger man swallows again and then sighs, turning away. Pete wants to reach out and place a hand on his shoulder, but he's been rejected before too and he knows that comfort sucks.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that." Brendon says softly, voice surprisingly steady, ripping the pasta open and dumping it in. Brendon's a good kid, Pete knows, handsome and talented as well. Pete's fairly sure that Brendon could get almost any girl or guy he wanted. But he's much too young for Pete and Pete only sees him as a little brother. Maybe in different circumstances they could have been something more, but he doubts it. "I've just, I-I just wanted to do that for a while." Brendon admits, sounding lighter, less upset. When he turns back around again, his dark eyes are bright again, the usual smile in them. "Just forget about that, okay?" Pete nods and smiles back, running fingers through his bleached blond hair.

The bleached blond man leaves the kitchen after that, deciding it would be best if Brendon was left alone for a while. He loves Brendon, but only like a brother, and he hopes that he understands that. He doesn't want to lose his closest friend over something as silly as that. He heads to his room, placing the water bottle on the nightstand and flopping on the bed. The suitcase full of his clothes his open and half-packed, ad he really should get to finishing up, but he really just wants to lay down. He hadn't worked that day, but Andy had called about his most recent case, telling him that there was too much evidence that showed the young man guilty. 

It stresses Pete out, because it means the young man will probably get a life sentence. But he doesn't feel too guilty about not being able to get him off, it was the young man's own fault. Sure, he feels a little bad, but it's not his fault. He closes his eyes and pushes work out of his mind, instead thinking about his month off. He'll go drinking every so often, he'll hook up with a beautiful women or a handsome man, and he can just lounge around with no work to-do. He'll be able to try exotic foods, be able to have a crepe for breakfast everyday. Originally, he was unsure about choosing France, but it seems like a dream to Pete at the moment.

He can't wait to get there.

* * *

When Pete arrives in Paris two days later, he's surprised he's not exactly tired. It's too late to call Travie and tell him to come to the inn, but it's too late in Paris for anywhere to be open. So Pete heads inside the hotel, dragging along two suitcases and a carry-on. It's really beautiful, ivy covering the building and flowers blooming out front. It was a great decision on his part, he thinks as he heads inside. It's nearly empty inside the inn, save for a woman behind the counter and a man wiping down tables. Pete heads to the front desk, smiling at the woman and dropping his bag. 

"Hello, welcome to Rosens Inn!" The woman greets him with a french accent, something Pete instantly finds charming. "Do you have reservations?" She asks him, flashing bright teeth and grabbing a pen.

Pete nods and fumbles for his ID. "Yes, under Wentz." He tells her, sliding her the card. The woman takes it and looks at it, looking down at a list. She turns around and grabs keys off of the board behind her, handing them to Pete with a smile. The woman slides the card back to him and he stuffs it in his pocket, struggling to pick up his carry on.

"Do you need help?" The woman asks after a moment of his struggling. Pete nods again and she gives him a look of sympathy before calling out in French. Pete turns to see whose she's calling out to and blinks when the man turns around, dropping the rag he's holding. Pete gapes as he walks closer, a shy smile on his face. The man looks incredibly young, more like a boy than anything. He blinks sea colored eyes at Pete and brushes his strawberry hair out of his face, holding his arms out. Wordlessly, Pete deposits his carry on into his arms. "This is Patrick," The woman starts from behind Pete. "He doesn't speak any English." She adds, and then says cheerily, "Have a good night, sir!"

Pete realizes his mouth is still open a few moments later, when Patrick gives him a strange look, furrowing his eyebrows. Pete notices that there's a small scar in his eyebrow, and it's oddly attractive. Pete blinks and closes his mouth, grabbing his other suitcase and looking down at his keys. Room three. Pete heads away from the desk with Patrick following close behind him, searching for his room. He finds it's the third down the first hallway he turns into, and he fumbles with the keys, all too aware of Patrick the cute French boy standing behind him. Not without struggling, Pete gets it open and flicks on the light, making his way into the bedroom area of the room and letting go of his suitcases.

The tanned man turns and watches Patrick gently lay his bag on the bed and look up at him with his sleepy looking eyes. "I-uh," Pete starts to say, before he realizes Patrick probably can't understand him. "Thank you." He tells him anyways, heart fluttering when Patrick gives him a grin. The grin makes his eyes crinkle, something Pete's always loved about people. The French boy is gorgeous, smaller than Pete, but chubbier. He's as pale as the walls, and a fedora rests on top of his head. Pete never thought fedoras could look good on anyone, but this boy is rocking it. The boy licks his lips and Pete's entranced by the movement, staring at them and their obscene shade of pink. Pete's fairly certain his mouth belongs in a porno. The boy flushes and a red blush rises in his cheeks. Pete nearly slaps his forehead; just because someone doesn't speak English doesn't mean they won't notice someone staring quite obviously at their lips.

" _Bonne nuit, monsieur_." Patrick tells him softly, still blushing. Pete doesn't have a clue what he just said, but he doesn't care, because Patrick's voice is beautiful and the accent is  _amazing_. Patrick ducks his head and turns, heading out of the room. Pete tries not to stare at his ass. He truly does. But he fails in about two seconds and stares at the curve of his round ass as he leaves the room, shutting the door quietly and leaving Pete alone.

Pete stands there for a minute, enthralled. Patrick the cute French boy is totally going to fuck him up, Pete realizes with a start, sitting back on his bed. He doesn't even know Patrick's last name, hell, he doesn't even speak his language, but he finds himself desperately wanting to kiss those perfect pink lips. They always say that the women in Paris are beautiful, but they never say anything about the men. Pete licks his lips and slides onto the floor, opening up his suitcase and searching for pajama bottoms to change into.

The twenty-nine year old hopes that Patrick works full time at the inn, and not just at night, because he wants to seem him again. He remembers that Travie will be at the inn the next day, and hope and excitement rise in his chest. He can talk to Patrick through Travie. Travie can translate for him until he learns the language, something he decides he will absolutely do if it means conversing with Patrick. And maybe he can teach Patrick English. It's a win-win. Actually, it's more of a win-win-win. Patrick gets to learn English, Pete gets to learn French,  _and_ he can get to know Patrick.

Pete changes into his pajama pants, throwing off his shirt and rummaging in his carry-on for his toothbrush. He grabs it and heads into the bathroom, using the inn's toothpaste and scrubbing his teeth. It's not until he's rinsing out his mouth that he realizes he's actually become quite tired. He's been too distracted by a certain French boy to even realize it and when he flops down on the bed he groans into the soft material, burying his face in his pillow.

He stays awake for a long time, thinking about Patrick. He wonders what his favorite color is and what his favorite foods are. He wonders if his skin is as soft as the sheets he's laying on, considering he's just as pale. Pete imagines marking that pale skin, leaving bright red bite marks on his thighs, which, from what Pete had seen, looked thick. If Patrick is as nice as he looks, then there's no way that Pete is letting him slip out of his grasp. Cute boys like that don't come around often, Pete knows that much.

Eventually, Pete drifts off, dreaming of sea-colored eyes and pink lips.

* * *

Pete wakes up groggy and confused the next morning. He's unsure of where he is for a few moments, realization hitting him when he realizes the sheets are white, not black, like his own. He groans into his pillow and then rolls over, blinking at the clock. It's eleven. Pete can't remember the last time he even slept in this late. It's satisfying, in a way, but also baffles him. He sits up and rubs the sleep out of his eyes, blinking at the bright light filtering in from the curtains. Pete sits in bed for a few minutes before rolling out and onto the floor, remembering Patrick as he looks for an outfit. The thought of him makes his lips twitch and he grabs his skinniest jeans - the ones that don't have holes - and his nicest Metallica shirt. He tries tells himself no, he is not trying to impress Patrick, he just wants to look good. Ultimately, he fails, wondering if Patrick has ever heard of Metallica as he pulls on the shirt.

He brushes his teeth and then checks his phone, surprised that there are no calls from Andy. He's not complaining, because no matter how much he loves Andy, he tends to ramble on about work. The last thing Pete wants to hear about at the moment is work. He pockets his phone and hopes no one comes into his room to clean, because he's got clothes strewn across the floor. Pete shrugs and grabs his keys, heading out the door and making his way into the lobby with a little confusion. It was dark last night and he doesn't quite remember exactly where to go, but he figures it out soon enough.

Travie is supposed to meet him at noon, so he has about thirty minutes to kill. He could order breakfast, eat, meet Travie, and then attempt conversation with Patrick. It sounds like a great plan, so Pete heads to the restaurant area of the inn. There's a few other people there, most looking like tourists, like himself. But he's surprised by how relatively empty the inn is at first, before remembering how much it had cost. Pete sits down at one of the empty tables and a waitress comes over to him, dark hair in a braid. Pete does have to admit, all the women he's seen so far are quite beautiful, but they have nothing on Patrick.

"Good morning, sir. What would you like to drink?" She asks, giving him a smile. Pete tells her he just wants a water, anything else this early would make his stomach hurt. The waitress nods and leaves him with a menu, which he looks through until he finds what he wants. French toast, fitting because he's in Paris, France. At least, that's what he thinks. He pulls out his phone and messes around with it, going through his instagram feed and looking through his twitter to pass time. He's impatient and he can never sit still for long, a bad combination. After a few minutes a glass is placed next to him, filled with ice water. Pete looks up to thank the waitress, mouth going dry when he realizes it's Patrick.

" _Vous êtes ici, monsieur._ " Patrick tells him, eyes widening at the same moment as his. "Oh, _vous êtes... je vous ai aidé la nuit dernière._ " He speaks, giving him a half smile and pushing his bangs out of his eyes. Pete watches him with wide eyes, swallowing. "Uh,  _avoir un bon petit déjeuner_." The French boy says a bit awkwardly, scratching his neck and then turning and leaving without another word. Pete swallows again, watching him leave. 

"Thank you." He whispers to Patrick and to God for allowing him to meet Patrick. Pete takes a gulp of his water and swallows it down, turning back to his phone. He orders his food when the waitress comes back, that almost drunken feeling still lingering in his mind. It takes about ten minutes for - to his slight disappointment - the waitress to come back, holding his food and smiling. "Thank you." Pete says again, digging into his French toast. It's nearing noon, and Pete doesn't want to keep Travie waiting any longer than he has to.

Once he finishes and pays, he stands and heads back to the lobby just in time to see Travie walk through the door. Travie spots him and approaches him, a friendly smile on his face. He holds his hand out and Pete shakes it, his own hand small in Travie's. Travie's much taller then Pete thought, and Pete feels like a child next to him. "Hello, Pete!" Travie says with a slight accent. His English is definitely clearer than anyone else he's met so far, something he's kind of relieved about. It's a little harder to make out what someone's saying when they have a thick accent. "I'm Travie, as you probably know. Thanks for hiring me, by the way." Travie smiles a lopsided grin, taking his hand back and pushing up his sleeves. He has tattoos, like Pete, and Pete wants to check them out, but he just met the guy and he's not someone who just grabs someone else's arms. That's a total invasion of personal space.

"No problem, dude. Thanks for taking the job!" Pete chuckles, fidgeting with a belt loop. He's not nervous, he's been a lawyer for too long to get nervous around people, but he's a bit afraid that they won't have much in common and the next month will be awkward and unbearable between the two of them. Travie seems to notice his hesitation and he clears his throat, making Pete look up.

"I love your shirt, man. Metallica's one of my favorites." Travie tells him, and Pete lights up. Now this was something he could talk about. They end up sitting down on the couch in the lobby, talking animatedly about music. They have common tastes, and Pete's glad that they've found something to bond over. Pete discovers that Travie raps in his spare time and Pete's definitely impressed. It takes a certain skill to be able to rap, one that Pete unfortunately doesn't have. He also finds out that he's engaged. Pete laughs when Travie asks if there's a woman in his life, and tells him he leans a little more towards men than he does women. Travie doesn't even bat an eye, just asks if there's a man in his life. They talk for little over an hour before a figure enters Pete's peripheral vision, making him look up.

It's Patrick, again, and Pete whispers, "Travie, look, look, look. Isn't he gorgeous?" Pete doesn't take his eyes off of him as Patrick moves through the lobby, a slight frown on his face when he sees that the floors are dirty. He grabs the broom and begins to sweep, occasionally stopping to brush hair out of his eyes. Pete turns to look at Travie, whose also watching Patrick. Pete almost wants to tell him that he has dibs, but he remembers that Travie's engaged. To a woman.

"He is, Pete. Have you talked to him?" Travie eventually says, adjusting his beanie and moving his gaze to Pete, curiosity in his dark eyes. Pete's shoulders slump and he frowns unhappily. If only Patrick spoke English. But he supposes one guy can't have it all, not even a guy who looks as perfect as Patrick. "And what's with the fedora?" Travie whispers, making Pete chuckle and shrug.

"He doesn't speak English." Pete sighs sadly, looking back at Patrick. Beside him, his new friend stands and walks over to Patrick, throwing Pete a smirk as he does so. "What are you doing!?" Pete hisses after him, gasping when Travie taps Patrick on the shoulder. As Patrick's looking up, Travie gestures violently for Pete to come over to them. He doesn't really have any other choice, so he stands and makes his way over there, plastering on a classic Wentz shit-eating grin onto his face. He waves a little to Patrick, watching pink bloom on his cheeks. "Um, I'm Pete." Pete says awkwardly. Travie instantly translates to Patrick, who seems to get it and grins back.

Patrick says something in French to Travie, who nods and turns back to Pete, that lopsided grin still on his face. "He says he knows. He also says he hopes you had a good breakfast." Patrick smiles at him shyly after Travie speaks, making Pete's heart sing. He wants to be the one to make Patrick smile  _all_ the time. It's a good feeling, a feeling he hasn't quite felt in a long time.

Pete thinks about what to say back to Patrick before a thought crosses his mind and he finds himself blurting out, "I'll teach you English." Travie translates before Pete has the chance to tell him he didn't mean to say that. But when Patrick's face lights up beautifully, Pete finds he doesn't care that he didn't mean to say that. Patrick's grin stretches across his face and his eyes scrunch up, making him look even cuter than he already is. Pete swears that he looks like a puppy. 

"Yes." Patrick says, looking proud of himself and also startling Pete. Patrick works at an inn where many English people stay at, Pete realizes. He probably picked up some English from visitors. "English." The strawberry haired man says, leaning forward and kissing Pete's cheek gently, his lips soft against his skin. Pete freezes, restraining himself from just grabbing Patrick's face and kissing him square on the lips. He remembers what he read before coming to Paris, that cheek kissing was often used in the place of a hug. Pete doesn't give a shit that Patrick 'hugged' him and didn't kiss his cheek to kiss his cheek, because those perfect lips that close to his mouth felt like a dream come true.

They arrange to meet up after Patrick's shift ends at four, and Patrick kisses his cheek again, leaving with a grin on his face and leaving Pete blushing.

* * *

"Car. That's a car." Pete tells Patrick, who nods and bites his lip, scribbling something on the paper in front of him. Pete watches him, heart fluttering. It's been a week, and Pete's discovered that Patrick's an excellent learner. It's most likely because of the English he hears. Patrick runs a hand through his hair and looks up at him with his wide eyes, a smile on his face. Pete's been spending every moment that Patrick's not working teaching him English. Patrick is eager to learn and seems to love learning, which makes it easier on the both of them. In return, Patrick teaches him French. Pete's told Travie he wouldn't need him anymore, and Travie had only smiled knowingly. Pete had paid him the full amount, rather for just one day, something he had insisted on. Travie had taken the money reluctantly and given him a hug and wished him good luck.

Patrick continues scribbling on the paper in front of him, covering it with his hand when Pete tries to peek. It's written in French, so Pete can't even understand anyways, but Patrick just gives him a mischievous look when he asks what he's writing. After a moment he looks up, clearing his throat and saying carefully, "Would you like to get dinner?" It's clear the words have been rehearsed, because he doesn't stumble over them at all. A smile breaks out across Pete's face because he's _actually_ teaching him English. Then, after a moment, the actual words sink in. He's silent for a moment, opening and closing his mouth because he forgot how to speak, but it comes back to him when Patrick's shoulders slump and he whispers, "Sorry." 

"No! No, I mean, yes. Yes." Pete tells him quickly, watching Patrick look up through his lashes and beam. Pete's heart feels like it's going to jump out of his chest because  _Patrick Stump the cute French boy_ just asked him out to _dinner_. As a maybe date, he thinks. "Now?" He asks, standing abruptly. Patrick nods hastily and stands as well, gathering his papers together and stuffing them in his bag, flushing red when Pete takes his hand and threads their fingers together.

His hand feels small and soft in Pete's, and he absently strokes his skin with his thumb. Their hands fit perfectly together, Pete cheers to himself. Pete trusts Patrick to lead him and he does, not dropping his hand once. They're mostly silent, with Patrick pointing things out in English every so often and Pete doing the same, but in French. Occasionally he'll mess up and Patrick will snicker at him, correcting him with ease, like he's been doing it his whole life. But when it is silent, the silence between them is comfortable, despite only knowing each other a week. They just kind of... click. It's odd because Patrick's still not very good at English and Pete's French still sucks, but it somehow works. Pete doesn't mind at all, instead just relishes his hand in his. By the time they reach a restaurant and Patrick's leading him inside, it's nearing eight and it's dark outside. Pete's not exactly sure where they are but he doesn't care, just follows Patrick inside all the same.

Patrick converses with the host for a moment and then the host leads them to a table in the corner of the packed restaurant, dark with only candles illuminating. Patrick blushes when Pete catches his eye, sitting down and biting his lip. Pete's own cheeks heat up when he realizes how romantic it all is, and he hastens to sit down and grab Patrick's hand again. " _Ceci est... incroyable_." Pete manages to form a sentence together, making Patrick's lips twist into a smile.

"Food is good." Patrick tells him, using his free hand to open the menu. Pete opens his own, scanning the pages. He spots frog legs and he instantly decides he'll go with that, because it's exotic and he hasn't tried it yet. While he's here he supposes he should try all the different types of food Paris has to offer. "How do you say," Patrick starts, pointing at something on the menu. The phrase was the first thing he taught Patrick, that way he could ask Pete. Pete cranes his head and sees he's pointing at wine. 

"Wine. Wine." Pete tells him slowly. Patrick nods and eyes the wine for a few moments and licking his lips. He flips through it for a while before closing it. Pete assumes he knows what he wants. He squeezes Pete's hand and gives him another beautiful smile, brushing his hair out of his lovely eyes. A waiter approaches their table soon after, greeting them in English and French. "This wine," Pete points to one that sounds good on the menu, remembering how Patrick had eyed it. It's expensive, but Pete doesn't care at all. Whatever Patrick wanted, he could have. Pete was planning on paying for both of their meals. The waiter nods and turns to Patrick, who says something in French. The waiter nods once more and heads off, disappearing into the hustle and bustle of the restaurant. 

They're quiet for a little while, trying to hold a conversation, before Patrick leans in and begins in a soft voice, " _Je_... like you. _Beaucoup_." He instantly turns a bright red once the words are out and Pete translates  _je_ and  _beaucoup_ in his mind.  _I like you. A lot._ "English bad, but... I like you." Patrick manages to say, letting go of Pete's hand to cover his face. Pete's lips twitch into a smile and he reaches out, moving Patrick's hands away from his face.

"Hey. I like you." Pete assures him when Patrick gives him a nervous look. " _Beaucoup_." He adds. Patrick's blush only intensifies but he smiles. The waiter returns at that moment with the wine and two glasses, pouring the two of them a glass. They order their food and take sips of the wine, both  _oohing_ and  _mmming_ over how it tastes. Pete's fairly certain he's never had wine this amazing. It's like he's drinking stars, and he voices his thoughts to the best of his ability to Patrick, who hums and nods in agreement.

By the end of the night, Patrick and Pete have drunken the whole bottle. Patrick is tipsy, all pink cheeks and messy hair because he keeps adjusting his fedora. Pete's not really tipsy, he's definitely got a higher-tolerance level than Patrick. They pay for their food and rise to leave, linking their fingers together as they do so. Pete's never had more fun on a date, which says a lot about Patrick considering he can't even speak English very well. They walk back to the inn under the night sky, the street lights of Paris illuminating their walk home. It's beautiful at night and it's nice and cool out, perfect for a night stroll. There's other people out, other couples as well, and it makes Pete because he's holding Patrick's hand.

They talk a little bit more on the way back and Patrick giggles at everything. Actually giggles. Usually Patrick is a lot more serious, almost stoic in normal life, so seeing him like this makes Pete laugh. And Pete was totally wrong before, Patrick can definitely go cuter than he already is. Eventually they reach the inn, and Patrick's soft and sleepy next to him and it makes Pete a little worried because he doesn't want him to drive home in this state. So instead of coming outright and asking him to stay, he presses him against the building and grasps his hips, making him emit a soft little gasp. 

"Pete?" Patrick questions, and god, Pete absolutely  _loves_ the way his name rolls off of his tongue. Pete leans forward and kisses his jaw, making Patrick sigh softly and move his hands up his side to curl around his neck. Pete digs his fingers into Patrick's fleshy hips, loving how thick they are and how perfect the give underneath his fingertips feels. Patrick gasps when Pete kisses his pale, pale neck, and gasps again when Pete kisses the corner of his mouth. When Pete finally presses his lips to Patrick's, Patrick just melts in his arms, winding a hand in his hair and pressing himself against him. Patrick's lips under his own are just like Pete imagined, soft, full, compliant. He's warm and a little wet and when Pete nibbles on his lip and slips his tongue inside, he can taste the stars.

Pete explores his mouth slowly and gently, breaking away after a few minutes. "Pete," Patrick sighs, tilting his head and closing his eyes. "Pete." He sighs again when Pete's lips touch his neck gently, kissing and nibbling gently. Pete dips lower and bites down softly, creating a mark on his skin. Patrick may not be his quite yet, but Pete can dream. The soft and breathy moans Patrick let out shoot electricity down Pete's spine and he's quickly growing hard, so he moves a thigh between Patrick's leg and presses. Patrick must sense that the mood changes, because he gasps and grinds against Pete, his own cock hard against Pete's thigh. Pete wants him so badly, so much that he can almost taste it, but he restrains himself. He has to go slow, because he doesn't want this to just be a one night stand. He wants to have an Adult Relationship with Patrick, wants everything that comes with it.

"Patrick, God,  _vous êtes magnifique_." Pete whispers against his skin, kissing him once more. "Inside. My room. _Plaire_." Pete begs. Patrick nods frantically and Pete breaks away from him, instantly missing his warmth. They both adjust their jeans and head inside, almost running to his room. Once they get inside the room Pete presses him against the door and knocks his hat off so he can play with his hair while they kiss. After a while of kissing against the door, they move to the bed, falling on it. Patrick straddles Pete's waist and they make out slowly, lazily, like they have all the time in the world. Patrick ends up laying on top of him with Pete stroking circles into his hip. "Patrick," Pete murmurs after a while of silence, save for their soft moans and gasps. "Just sleep. Okay?" 

Patrick's eyes flash with disappointment but he nods, murmuring out, "Okay, okay Pete." Patrick rolls out of the bed and stands there. They're both not very hard anymore and Pete doesn't care one little bit, he wants to wait, wants to make sure that this is more than a one-night thing. Pete throws off his clothes quickly and lies back against the sheets, waiting for Patrick to shrug off his clothes. But Patrick doesn't, just stands there, biting his plump lip and looking nervous. Hesitantly, he unbuttons his jeans and lowers them, tugging off his shirt. Pete only has a few seconds to admire his pale and naked body though, because he jumps into the bed and crawls under the covers as fast as humanely possible. " _Je ne suis pas très mince_." Patrick says quietly, curling into Pete once Pete gets under the cover. Pete translates in his head, trying to remember. He's been studying French the past week and he's actually made quite an effort to do so. He knows most basic adjectives and basic phrases, and when it finally clicks he gapes.

Pete rolls and plants his hands on either side of Patrick's head, who looks up at him with a questioning look. "Patrick.  _Tu es belle_." Patrick sighs and leans up on his elbows, kissing Pete softly and then laying back. "Promise." Pete whispers, lowering himself back down next to Patrick. Patrick curls into his side and Pete wraps an arm around his waist, bringing him close. He's only known the younger boy for a short week, but he's falling in love with him, hard. He doesn't even want to think about returning to America. Patrick falls asleep quickly, soft and warm. He's not thin, not at all, and Pete knows that. But he's not fat at all. Even if he were a hundred pounds heavier he would still be beautiful.

Patrick's soft exhales of breath eventually put Pete right to sleep, clutching Patrick tightly against him.

* * *

Week two of Pete's Paris stay has Patrick speaking English even better. It's still difficult for him, but he learns quickly and with enthusiasm. Each day they grow closer as well, their kisses and hand-holding becoming more frequent. Pete doesn't mention going back to the United States and Patrick doesn't bring it up, and it makes Pete more worried with every passing say. He considers breaking it off, telling Patrick it won't work because he's leaving in two weeks, but then Patrick makes him laugh or tells him how great he is and he can't, he can't say it to Patrick, because he can't bear to see him unhappy.

So he tries not to think about it, just focuses on Patrick. Patrick is funny and Patrick is kind to everyone, but Patrick is also fiery and short-tempered. Pete discovers this soon enough and it just serves to make him fall even more in love with him. If Pete didn't know better, he would say that Patrick is perfect. And he quite nearly is, but no one's perfect. Patrick has self-esteem issues, among other things, something he doesn't communicate to Pete very often. It kind of breaks his heart a bit, because Patrick is beautiful. But maybe that's just his being in love with him.

Pete spends hours laying awake at night wondering if he loves Patrick. He's never had a really _real, long_ relationship before, besides Ashlee and Mikey. But Ashlee and him had ended up being too different, and Mikey had ended up not being right for him. He's a little afraid that he's just in love with the idea of being in love with Patrick, like he was with Mikey, afraid he'll fall out of love and break the poor French boy's heart.

But Patrick hasn't said  _I love you_ quite yet and Pete's not sure if that's a good or bad thing. He suspects that Patrick's holding off on it like him. Maybe he's had bad relationships in the past. Pete doesn't know. Patrick hasn't said quite much to him about his past, only mentioning that his parents divorced at a young age and that he's always dreamed of going to the States. But he's never had enough money, because days of cleaning tables and sweeping floors haven't made him much.

Pete lies awake and wonders if Patrick would go back to the States with him if he asked. Wonders if Patrick would give up his life in Paris and move to an entirely different country just to be with Pete. Pete wonders if he'd do the same for Patrick. He thinks so, but then he remembers the life he's built from the ground up and realizes he can't give that up so easily, despite how much he likes Patrick. At least, not at the given moment.

Still, he treasures each night, and each night they twine themselves a little closer. Their relationship hasn't progressed much further than heavy makeout sessions, but Pete's been noticing that Patrick's been getting bolder each night, going so far as to rub off against him. They get off that way, grinding against each other and gasping, like teenagers trying not to get caught. Pete discovers that Patrick's sleepy and affectionate after he comes, satisfied and happy. It makes Pete's heart swell until it feels like it's going to burst, because he's so fucking happy that he makes Patrick happy.

It's another night of Patrick snuggling with him, legs tangled in his, when Patrick whispers, " _Mon amour_ , when are you, you going... _pays natal_?" Pete's heart flutters at the term of endearment until he actually realizes what he said.  _My love, when are you going... home?_ When he looks down at Patrick, his sea colored eyes are watery and he's biting his lip, looking terrified.

" _Copine_ , I-I-I...  _deux_ weeks." Pete confesses, voice a little choked. Patrick sniffs then, clearing his throat and pushing the covers off, rolling out of the bed. Pete sits up, confused and then gasping when Patrick grabs his clothes and begins to put them on. " _Aimer, non, non._ Back to bed,  _plaire._ " Pete begs, climbing out of the bed and digging his fingers into Patrick's hips. Patrick looks up at him with watery eyes, but there;s also anger and confusion in them. "Patrick, please." Pete whispers, kissing him gently. Patrick melts into him and kisses back, lips moving against Pete's before he pulls away, looking heartbroken. _  
_

"This, not work. Won't work, Pete. You leaving,  _bientôt_.  _Moi stupide._ " Patrick squirms out his grasp, pulling his jacket on and wiping his eyes. "You will... forget  _moi_.  _Je te aime,_ Pete." Patrick whispers, kissing him gently, and Pete hates the kisses implications. It's a goodbye kiss, he thinks, and he's spiraling and his chest is going tight and the room is closing in on him. He sinks to his knees when Patrick hurries out of the room, sniffling and nearly slamming the door. He should have said something sooner, no, he shouldn't have been so stupid and started a fucking  _relationship_ with someone in an entirely different country. He shouldn't have done this, he should have just fucked Patrick and moved on to another person, this is all his fault. He never meant for it to progress this far.

Pete stands on wobbly legs and heads to the bathroom, retching and throwing up his guts. They're all twisted and tight inside him, so he just rinses out his mouth and climbs into the bed, burying his face in the pillow that smells like Patrick, like vanilla and strawberry and  _home_. He eventually lets his tears drip and he cries, his head and heart all confused. The twenty-nine year old man doesn't know what he wants. He wants Patrick, but he can't ask Patrick to leave his home. And Pete can't leave his own.

He is so,  _so_  fucked.

* * *

Patrick doesn't call. He's silent for a week until Pete breaks, his need to see him too strong. He dials his number in the afternoon one day, and Patrick answers with a sleepy, " _Bonjour?_ " It nearly makes Pete laugh, the fact that Patrick's still in bed at one in the afternoon, but he doesn't. He has something to tell him.

"Patrick,  _mon coeur,_ _je te aime._ I love you. Please come back." Pete begs, listening to Patrick's breathing hitch on the other line. "Please." Patrick's silent for a few moments, allowing Pete's heart to constrict and the lump of anxiety to work its way into his throat. What if Patrick said no? What if Patrick said yes? Pete's still unsure of what he should do. He desperately wants Patrick to come with him, but it's so much to ask of him. He doesn't even know if Patrick loves him as much as Pete's discovered he loves Patrick.

"Pete,  _je te aime trop._ I'm coming." Patrick says, sounding small and unsure. It's clear he's been practicing English in the week he's been silent, and it makes the lump in his throat melt. If Patrick was truly gone from his grasp, then he would stop learning English. Pete knows the only reason he was learning was for him. "I missed you." And wow, he must have been studying day and night because his grammar has greatly improved. Pete lets out a weak chuckle and falls back onto the bed, settling back and saying I love you one more time before they hang up. 

His maybekindasorta boyfriend enters the room about twenty minutes later. He's wearing a red hoodie that belongs to Pete and Pete's certain he could just burst from the love he's feeling towards him right now. The hoodie is big on him and when he reaches up and fixes his glasses, Pete can see the sleeves cover his hands. Patrick approaches the bed shyly, climbing on when Pete gestures to his chest. He crawls on top of him and kisses him slowly, passionately, communicating everything he can't say clearly. 

They kiss for a while, wordlessly, before Patrick pulls away from him and whispers, "I'm sorry.  _Pardonnez-moi_." In response Pete just kisses his nose, his cheeks, his eyelids, and his jaw. It's quiet and gentle for a while, before Patrick tugs on the hem of his shirt and then slides his hands underneath, running his hands across the planes of his body. Pete arches against his touch and sighs against his lips, slipping his hand under the back of Patrick's shirt and running his hands down his back.

But then Patrick changes the mood abruptly and unzips and unbuttons his jeans, tugging them down. They haven't gotten this far before and Pete tenses, breaking the kiss. "Patrick, you're sure?" He asks carefully, watching Patrick's eyes flash. He doesn't answers, just slides down his body and tugs his jeans down to his ankles, mouthing at his hips. " _Patrick, fuck."_ Pete groans, hips bucking up. Patrick kisses his hips and nibbles on his thighs, before finally moving his boxers down.

" _La petite mort."_ The younger man murmurs against his thigh before swallowing him down. Pete groans, arching into his mouth. Patrick teases him with tiny licks to the head of his cock, before wrapping a hand around the base and going down the length of his cock, taking him with ease. He doesn't even seem to have a gag reflex and Pete moans when he looks down to see Patrick with his mouth full of cock. He looks absolutely gorgeous, cheeks red and lips bruised, his hair at it's messiest. Pete reaches for his hair, wanting to pull and grab, but Patrick looks up at him and glares, making Pete move his hands to his shoulders instead. 

Patrick hums around his cock, bobbing his head and dragging his tongue on the underside. Pete watches the strawberry hair move up and down in his lap for a moment, before flopping back and moaning again. Patrick is  _killing_ him. It's too much but not enough all at once and it's driving him crazy. Patrick moves up and lets the tip rest in his mouth before looking up at Pete through his lashes, and seriously, he's the hottest person Pete has ever seen. "Please, Patrick, oh my god," Pete babbles when Patrick swirls his tongue around the head of his cock and then presses his tongue to the slit, before going back down. When he comes back up he uses the tiniest hint of teeth and sucks hard on the head and cleverly uses his free hand to massage Pete's balls.

Pete pushes at his shoulders in warning before he comes, arching off the bed and spilling into Patrick's mouth. But Patrick doesn't pull away, just takes it all and swallows down the come, pulling off with an obscene pop once Pete finishes spurting. He licks away what dribbled down his mouth, cleaning Pete up with the tiniest of licks. Pete's boneless and satisfied but when he props himself back up on his shoulders and sees that Patrick's pressing a palm to his own dick, hard and pressing against the denim of his jeans, he shoots up and nearly tackles him into the mattress.

"Pete," Patrick whimpers when Pete presses his lips to his neck. "Pete, pleaseplease _please_." And fuck if that's not the hottest thing Pete's ever heard. He can't stand it any longer and so he climbs off of Patrick, making him whine in annoyance. But he goes only to rummage in the night stand's drawer. Hotels and inns are always loaded with lube and condoms, sneakily hidden in the smallest drawer. Pete crows his victory and uncaps the bottle, drizzling some on his fingers, turning back to Patrick, whose suddenly got his jeans and boxers off. He has a pale hand wrapped around his cock, flushed red. His cock is perfect, a good size, but thick, and Pete can't wait to put his mouth on him. "Pete, please,  _me sucer, baise-moi,_ anything!" Patrick cries as he jerks himself, bucking up into his hand.

So Pete does something. He swats away Patrick's hand and replaces it with his own, rubbing a finger across Patrick's hole. Patrick's reaction is immediate, his mouth drops open and he gasps something in french that Pete can't understand at the moment, because his mind is buzzing with _p_ _atrickperfectamazingbeautiful._ And when Pete presses his finger into him, he finds he's hot and so, so tight, that it makes Pete wish he hadn't just come so he could fuck him. But he can do that another night, especially since it's clear that they're together together now. "Pete, oh   _dieu_.  _Autre, autre_." Patrick begs, grinding down against his fingers. Pete glances up from where he's watching his tanned fingers sink into Patrick's hole in between his milky globes, watching Patrick pant and beg. His hair is dark against his forehead with sweat and his normally sleepy looking eyes are wide and there's an desperate look in them. Pete feels something like possessiveness, so he leans over and mouths against his thick, thick thigh, nibbles, and then sinks his teeth into his flesh, sucking a love bite into his skin.

Patrick whines, long and loud, and his cock twitches next to Pete's face. "Petepete _petepete,_ " Patrick starts to chant a mantra of his name, begging and pleading. Pete takes pity on him and thrusts another finger into him, crooking his fingers upwards and searching for that sweet spot inside him. He presses against his prostate a few moments later, mouthing at the head of his cock, and that's apparently all it takes, because then Patrick's coming in ropy spurts all over Pete's mouth and chin. Patrick mewls as he comes, arched off the bed with Pete's fingers in his ass. It's definitely the most beautiful thing Pete's ever seen and he burns that image into his memory so he can save it for later.

Gently, Pete pulls his fingers out of Patrick's ass and wipes the come off of his chin with a grimace. "Patrick, did you like it?" Pete asks breathlessly, flopping down onto his lover. The strawberry haired man hums and noses his cheek, looking sleepy and satiated.

"Yes, Pete. So much." Patrick whispers against his earlobe, making Pete's shiver. "I love you. _Je te aime._ " Pete grins against his cheek and wipes his hand against the sheets, which, at this point, are disgusting. Pete feels a little guilty and pities the staff who will have to come and clean the sheets in the morning, but he's honestly too exhausted to care much. They end up moving up the bed and Patrick curls against him, tiny and naked, shirt finally removed. His rosy nipples are perky when Pete brushes his fingers over them, making Patrick shudder. He files that information away for later, for another time. Pete throws his off and wraps his arms around the younger man, kissing his forehead gently and carding his hands through his hair. Pete's so glad he called Patrick, so glad he gathered the courage and didn't chicken out. He knows if he hadn't he would be laying in the bed alone, cold despite the blankets, and unhappy. 

With Patrick, he's happy. The darkness that lingers in his head even with medication dissipates and Patrick makes him feel whole. Pete knows he can't just let Patrick go. Not after this.

* * *

After they fuck for the first time, Patrick wants sex all the time. It's not like Pete is hesitating to give it, but fucking three times in one fucking day is crazy. Pete's not as young as he used to be. But he ends up not giving a shit, because Patrick is a small demon in bed, despite his angelic looks, and that's just another reason for Pete to love him. Over the next few days they do everything. Patrick rides him, fucking down on Pete's cock and whimpering. Pete holds him against the shower wall and thrusts into him harshly, loving the contrast between their skin. Patrick gets on all fours and Pete licks him open, only to fill him with his cock a few minutes later.

Seriously. Patrick is fucking hot and super eager. He's all Pete could ever ask for.

Every passing day Patrick seems to get snappier, however. He seems anxious and stressed and Pete thinks he knows why, because he's in the same exact boat. Every time they fuck, it's more desperate and hurried, like Patrick can't get enough of Pete. Pete knows for sure he can't get enough of Patrick. The sessions in which Pete teaches him English become longer, with Patrick getting more frustrated every time they sit down. He's stuck on grammar, not entirely getting it. Some sentences are fine, but others are just... incomprehensible to anyone but Pete. Patrick seems tighter each day and Pete knows that he's going to snap one day.

Patrick's wound tight and he snaps three days before Pete's due to leave. He breaks down in Pete's inn room as they're getting ready to go to the park, just sobbing into his hands. It terrifies Pete, because he's seen Patrick cry and he's seen Patrick yell but he's never seen him like this. Nothing he does calms Patrick down, he just sobs and sobs, shaking violently in Pete's arms. He kicks and punches the wall before sinking down and shuddering. Pete doesn't know what to do, he's panicking, because he's had panic attacks before but he doesn't know exactly what to do when someone else has one, he didn't even know Patrick could have one.

Eventually Patrick tires himself out and he goes limp in Pete's arms, his whole face red and puffy. Pete is so, so relieved when he finally stops. He gathers Patrick in his arms and rocks him slowly, whispering soothing things until Patrick straightens up, still trembling. Pete's heart breaks a little more every minute he sees Patrick with those puffy eyes and those dried tear tracks on his face. He can't bear to see him unhappy.

"Pete. You're leaving. In _trois journées_." Patrick starts, voice shaky. Pete nods slowly, trying to swallow down the lump forming in his throat. "Is this it? Are we... are we  _fini_?" Pete gapes at him for a second before grabbing his cheeks and kissing him desperately. Patrick kisses back, just as desperate as him, before pulling away abruptly. "No, I need know. _Es_ _t-ce que tu m'aime?_ " 

"Oh my god, of course I love you.  _Je te aime, mon amour._ " Pete whispers, cupping Patrick's face. Patrick still looks hesitant, and so, with little thought, Pete blurts, "Come with me." Shock crosses Patrick's face, then wonder, then cold, set, disappointment. Pete's heart thumps wildly. It can't end like this. He can't end it like this. Patrick can't, he can't, they have a whole relationship of ahead of them and they could have so much. It can't just  _end. Not like this._

"I can't," Patrick's voice breaks and tears fill his eyes again. "I can't leave my  _famille_. My  _pays_." Patrick tells him softly, voice cracking. It's in that moment that Pete's heart truly shatters, because he should have known it would be too much to ask for. He couldn't just expect someone to leave their life, for  _him,_ of all people. "Pete, tell me you understand." Patrick begs, moving a hand to the back of his neck and pushing their foreheads together.

"You wouldn't leave for me?" Pete whispers, heartbroken. "We can make it work.  _Il peut arriver._ " He begs, and then starts babbling words in English and a few in French. The sentences aren't comprehensible and they're just words strung along, hiding themselves under the illusion that they are complete and comprehensible. But his words and his sentences are not complete, they've never been complete. The words are broken and dancing in the air, taunting Pete because the words will never be enough to make Patrick come with him. The words laugh and then die quickly, because they're not strong enough. Pete's not strong enough.

A tear rolls down Patrick's face and he murmurs, "Not now. One day, Pete. I can't now." Pete feels a little hope return to his chest but it dies quickly, because one day isn't enough to satisfy him. He wants Patrick now and he wants Patrick in three days and in three months, not  _some day_. "I can't just leave." And maybe Pete understands that a little bit, but it's _not enough_ to make him happy. "I promise,  _mon amour._ Just wait for me. I will come."

Pete cries for a little bit in Patrick's arms, holding him tightly. Soon enough the tears turn into kisses and the kisses turn into sex, Pete thrusting into Patrick gently, holding him as close as he can. His time is severely limited. In three days, he won't be able to see Patrick, let alone touch and taste his skin. Once they're fucked out, they twine their bodies together. They're not two separate bodies at that moment, they've just merged and tangled to become one. Patrick wakes Pete up in the middle of the night, screaming and panting. He's never had nightmares before and it terrifies Pete. They end up having sex again, but instead of it being slow and gentle, it's fast and harsh and Patrick is sloppily and quickly prepared, but it's clear that they both want this. No - they both _need_ this.

The next three days are the most heartbreaking of Pete's life. Patrick spends a lot of the time wiping away tears or begging for sex and another part of the time studying English as hard as he can. He's improved vastly in the past month, his sentences clear and his vocabulary expanding each day. Patrick promises he will continue studying English and vows that by the time he comes to the United States, he will be speaking as well as Pete. Pete promises to continue to learn French, so that way they can hold conversations in both English and French. It would be easy for Patrick to lie, to forget all the English he's learned in the past month, but Pete sees the sparkle of promise in his eyes, the determination. It's an intense look that sets his nerves alight. 

Pete takes Patrick to dinner on his last night, ordering the bottle of liquid stars so they can drink it together. Stars hold wishes, Patrick tells him, taking a sip of the liquid and closing his eyes before launching into story. The wishes are wishes that can come true and have come true. Pete wishes and wishes, but he knows deep down that the magic won't work. It's the downside to bottling stars - they lose their brilliance and they lose their magic.

Even if he can't wish on the stars, he can drink them, swallow them down into his body and relish the way they blaze a trail down his throat, settling in his stomach and setting his body on fire in the best way possible. Stars, Pete thinks, aren't meant to be bottled and drank. But it's always been that way, and it always will be. When they leave the restaurant, full and satiated and itching to get back and love each other, Pete looks up at the sky. The night sky is still full of stars. It will always be full of stars, despite how many seem to fall and how many seem to be plucked out of the sky. Because some things are forever. Their relationship, Pete realizes, may not be.

* * *

When he arrives back home in Chicago, Pete's miserable. He keeps replaying their goodbye scene in his head. Patrick had kissed him slowly, gently. It had been a kiss full of promises and full of sadness, but also full of thankfulness and love. Then he had left, promising to see him again. He had to, or he would slowly go insane.

Brendon greets him happily, with a huge grin on his face, but his face falls when he sees Pete's expression. "Pete, hey, what's wrong?" He asks, ushering him inside and hugging him. He's just like Pete remembers, tall and lanky, bright and cheery. "What happened? Did you have a bad vacation?" Brendon questions him, leading to the living room and sitting him down. Pete sets the suitcases down and sits down, swallowing. It's been less than a day and he misses Patrick so badly that he can hardly see straight.

"I met someone in Paris." Pete tells Brendon. Brendon's expression changes from confused to a little disappointed, to happiness, to confusion again in less than a few seconds. "His name is Patrick. Patrick Stump. And I'm in love with him." Brendon smiles softly, seeming to get it right away. It's one of the things Pete likes about the kid, he can understand Pete's thoughts better than Pete probably can.

Brendon shifts and sits next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and bringing his head to rest on his shoulder. "And you had to leave him behind..." Brendon whispers, finishing the unsaid part of the story. He seems to sense that tears prick Pete's eyes, because he quickly says, "Tell me about him. Tell me what he's like. Tell me his favorite color, his favorite food." Pete laughs weakly as he forms Patrick in his mind, small and pale, chubby and gorgeous. He pictures Patrick laughing, body shaking because he can't laugh without his whole body moving. 

"He's the best person in the world." Pete begins, settling in on Brendon's shoulder. "He's shorter than me, and he's pale as the vase over there," Pete points to a creamy vase with flowers in it in the far corner of the room, drawing a chuckle out of Brendon. "He has these eyes, these eyes that aren't blue, but they aren't green. They're somewhere in between. And his lips. His lips, Brendon, oh god. Full and lush and amazing. Patrick has a face like an angel, but he's got this fiery little temper, and a short fuse. He's scary when he gets mad, even though he's two inches shorter than me. He steals all the blankets at night and he sometimes grumpy in the morning, but I love him for it.

"He's my sun, my moon, my stars. He believes that stars hold magic and he doesn't realize he's a star himself. He's like a refreshing drink on a hot summer day. You don't realize how amazing he is until you have him. Patrick's that feeling you get when you stand in the ocean on a chilly day. Startling, but pleasant, different, but amazing. He's everything to me. I love him more than anything." Pete finishes his small rant about Patrick and wipes tears out of his eyes. "God, Brendon, I fell in love with him so quickly."

Brendon squeezes him tight and asks, "Is he gonna be coming here?" The words make his chest tight again and Pete shrugs, shaking his head jerkily and looking down. Brendon must realize that that wasn't the right thing to say because he mutters, "Oh shit, I'm sorry Pete, I didn't mean..." Pete just shrugs again, knowing Brendon didn't mean to make him upset. Brendon just didn't fully understand how upset he was by the whole ordeal.

"He might be coming. I don't know when... maybe a few months? A year? I don't know Brendon. I'm going to go crazy without him, though." Pete tells him, sighing softly and shrugging out of Brendon's grasp. Brendon lets him go willingly and watches him gather up his suitcases. "I'm gonna- gonna go unpack." Pete says, throat tight. "It's late. I'll see you tomorrow, Brendon." Brendon nods and wishes him good night, his own sad little smile on his face. Pete lugs his suitcases up the stairs to his room, not even bothering to open them. He just sheds his clothes and flops onto the bed, curling up under the covers by himself.

When he wakes up in he morning he searches the mattress blindly for Patrick before realizing that Patrick's thousands of miles away.

* * *

Months pass. Pete and Patrick speak as often as they can, which isn't very often. Their timezones are completely different. When Pete's working, Patrick's asleep. When Patrick's working, Pete's asleep. Between his clients and his shitty sleep schedule, they only speak once a week, on Sunday. It's so much less than what Pete wants, but he takes it, because he loves Patrick so fucking much. Patrick tells him of how he's perfecting his English and how he got a promotion and how much he misses Pete. Pete tells him about his clients and about his daily life, telling him how much he misses and loves Patrick. They spend hours on the phone, speaking in a mixture of French and English and both start to cry a little when they have to go.

It's been six months since Pete's seen Patrick, since he's touched him and tasted his skin. He's terrified because he's starting to forgot how soft he is and he's starting to forgot his taste and smell. Pete lays awake at night, hoping to God or whoever was up there that he didn't forget, and also hoping that Patrick didn't forget him. Since coming back, people have made remarks on how he seems quieter, more tired, more sad. It's true, though, so Pete doesn't correct them on anything. He's one half, incomplete with his love.

Some days he wonders if he should just end it. Just tell Patrick he can't do this anymore because the thought of him drives him insane, and the fact that he can't hold him makes him scream into his pillow. This day is one of those days. It's Sunday and Patrick is due to call in an hour, but Pete's just laying in bed and wondering how to tell Patrick that it's over. He imagines Patrick will cry because he's already crying himself and he hasn't even done it yet. But Pete can't stand living like this, without his other half. Ending it would be better for the both of them, because Patrick's said he feels the same way.

At eleven a.m sharp, when they're supposed to talk, his doorbell rings. Pete stands, dropping his phone, annoyed at whoever's ringing. But Patrick hasn't called yet so he goes to answer the door, nearly tripping down the stairs. He's tired, he hadn't got much sleep last night. Pete had been up to all hours wondering what would be the easiest and cleanest way to end their relationship.

Pete pulls open the door and goes rigid when he sees a strawberry haired, blue-green eyed, short man standing in front of him, a teary smile on his face. "Pete,  _mon amour_." Patrick whispers, stars shining in his eyes. Pete opens and closes his mouth. It can't be real. It's a dream. Patrick isn't standing on his porch with a suitcase next to him and smile on his face, because Patrick's in Paris and supposed to be calling him any moment. "I've missed you so much." Patrick murmurs in perfect English, with his amazing French accent, and steps forward, cupping his face and kissing him deeply. Pete melts into the kiss immediately, because it's real, Patrick's actually here and he's got a suitcase and he looks  _happy_. They kiss and kiss for what seems like forever until Pete pulls away and laughs, bright and genuine. It's his first real laugh in a long time.

He pulls his love into a hug, holding him tightly and whispers, "You're staying, _oui_?" He breathes in Patrick's scent, vanilla and strawberry, just like he remembers. Patrick's skin is as soft as well, porcelain and beautiful. He's thinner, Pete notes, but just by a tad bit. He's still the same Patrick he left in Paris nearly seven months ago, still the bright-eyed twenty-four year old that he's in love with.

"Forever, I hope." Patrick murmurs back, kissing him again. Pete's so hungry for him, has been for  _months_. So he drags him and the suitcase inside, dragging him upstairs and flinging the suitcase across the room, pressing Patrick against the door. All he wants is Patrick, his soulmate, his life. They barely make it to the bed before Pete's ripping his clothes off, running his hands across his body and kissing him. He doesn't realize he's crying until Patrick breaks away and whispers against his ear, "I'm here, Pete.  _Toujours._ " Pete raises himself and looks at Patrick, who also has tears dripping down his cheeks. Patrick pulls him back down after a moment though, kissing him like he's the last breath of air in the world. It's been so long, much too long since he's kissed his golden boy. He's overwhelmed with emotion, because he's so fucking elated and he'll never be happier than he is in this moment.

Pete takes his time with Patrick, preparing him slowly and swallowing his moans and whimpers. The world blurs and fades away and everything disappears except for Patrick, his Patrick. It all narrows down to him. Pete thrusts into him as gently as he can, gripping his hand and peppering his face with kisses, kissing away the tears that roll down his cheeks. Patrick does the same for him, scratching up and down his back with his nails, marking him. Pete returns the favor, marking his skin with love bites all across his body. The red on the white is beautiful and it's showing that Patrick is  _his,_ his only.

Pete comes with Patrick, the two of them moaning into each other's mouths. It's the most intimate and the most emotional sex Pete's ever had and he ends up crying in Patrick's arms because he just can't believe that Patrick's actually here to stay, that Patrick will never be apart from him again. Patrick, who normally guards his emotions, is a crying mess as well, just holding onto Pete as tightly as he can.

And they become one again that night. Pete realizes that Patrick is his star. He's made all his wishes come true.

* * *

Pete takes Patrick out to dinner the next night. In his pocket is a small, velvet box that he brings out after they finish eating. Patrick sees the box and gasps, hands flying to his mouth and his eyes watering almost immediately."Patrick, you're the best person I've ever met. You're my star. I love you with all my heart and I want to be with you forever.  _Veux-tu m'épouser?"_ Despite the short time they've been together, Pete just knows that Patrick is right for him. All those months of going insane is just evidence. Pete holds his breath, watching a mixture of emotions flash in Patrick's eyes and he's briefly afraid he's going to say no.

But Patrick just takes his hand gently and breathes out, "Yes."

**Author's Note:**

> (i totally didn't tear up while writing this (this isn't even my saddest fic why did i tear up))  
> i really, really hope you enjoyed the story! Since i've written a fic over 10k words, I hope it will be easier to do so from now on, because I really enjoyed writing a longer story.
> 
> (p.s - I really need someone who would be willing to beta my fics, if you're willing to do so, just send me a message off of anon at centurese.tumblr.com! It would really help me out because I suck at catching my own mistakes sometimes.


End file.
